


Whumptober 2019: Supernatural

by LadyWallace



Series: Whumptober 2019 [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Caretaking, Family Fluff, Feels, Gen, Humiliation, Hurt Castiel, Hurt Dean, Hurt Gabriel, Hurt Sam, Sickness, Team Free Will whump, Whump, Whumptober 2019, Wound Tending, probably fencing fighting torture and revenge, whumptober prompts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2019-10-30
Packaged: 2020-11-08 20:44:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 16
Words: 21,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20841734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyWallace/pseuds/LadyWallace
Summary: My Supernatural related Whumptober prompts





	1. Day One: Shaky Hands

**Author's Note:**

> Happy first day of Whumptober!!! :D I'm so excited to get to do this again, and I hope you guys enjoy the stories as much as you seemed to last year. 
> 
> So, first off, I'm splitting the prompts between Supernatural and Good Omens and each will be posted in their own collection, so if you also want to read Good Omens ones, the first of those prompts will be up tomorrow! I'm also posting all of these directly to my Tumblr.
> 
> Disclaimer: I am not a medical professional, there are probably inaccuracies in these stories, but please do not comment on them. I'm not trying to write an accurate medical textbook, I'm writing fanfiction for entertainment. If you can't look past a few inaccuracies for the sake of entertainment, then maybe this isn't for you.

"It's…it's Dean, Bobby, he's hurt."

Sam pressed his fingers against his eyes as he tried to will away the images flying through his head. It had just been a simple hunt—it was supposed to be anyway—something to get them back on their feet since Dean was back from Hell. And yet, once again, Sam had been forced to watch his brother get torn up by something before he could stop it.

It didn't matter that these wounds weren't fatal, that Dean had stabbed the black dog to get it off of him, and Sam and then shot it dead after he had regained his senses, all he could think about was when the Hellhounds had come for Dean and torn him apart. He couldn't stop shaking.

"How bad, Sam?"

Bobby's calm voice over the phone was doing little to ease Sam's nightmarish thoughts, even though he was trying to breathe deeply, to calm himself.

"He um…he lost a bit of blood. But I got the wounds closed."

It hadn't been easy, but Sam had done it. It had helped that Dean was unconscious by then, or nearly so. After Sam had dragged him back to the Impala and somehow managed to get him into the backseat, he'd done it there—too far away to make it to a hospital before Dean could lose a dangerous amount of blood. So Sam had had to force himself to peel Dean's shirt away from the wounds, nearly vomiting. The last time he'd done this, he had been readying his brother for his grave. The only difference was the ragged breathing and the shuddering rise and fall of Dean's chest.

Sam had stitched his brother up more times than he wanted to remember, but this time, as he reached for the suture kit, pouring whisky from Dean's flask over all of it to sterilize it, he found his hands were shaking and he couldn't stop. Maybe it was adrenaline left over from the fight, maybe it was fear from seeing his brother get tackled by that black dog, hearing Dean's shout of terror as he too was flung back into memories Sam knew his brother would rather never remember. Whatever it was, Sam's hands were shaking like they never had before and he had to get himself together if he was going to help his brother.

He'd taken a deep breath, taken a swig from Dean's flask, and then set to work.

He'd done it. It wasn't good, or neat, but he'd finished the stitches, tugging too tight here and there and hissing curses and apologies to his thankfully unconscious brother. The wounds were closed though and that was what really mattered.

He'd taped gauze over them before calling Bobby. The hunter wasn't far, just in town. They'd had to run out to the woods for a quick lead and left the older hunter to follow them. He should be here soon.

"Okay, just hold on, son. I'll be there."

Even the reassurance couldn't stop the shaking in Sam's hands. He nearly dropped the phone into his pocket and sat on the floor of the Impala's backseat, legs out the open door as he pulled his knees up to his chest and rested his head against them, trying to take deep breaths to calm himself.

Dean would be okay. He was alive. He was _alive._

Sam wondered how long it would take him to get over seeing Dean savaged by the hellhounds even now that he was back topside. He'd thought had stopped having nightmares about that finally and yet, now, he was sure they would be back to haunt him in full force.

A groan sounded by his head and he looked up to see Dean stirring, eyes fluttering. Sam instantly turned toward his brother, seeing Dean's eyes open with a look on confusion.

"Hey, Dean?" Sam called.

Something passed over Dean's face—a look of distrust and then relief, probably realizing that he was not in Hell again. He grimaced and reached up to lay a hand over his bandaged chest, fingering the tears in his shirt that Sam had tugged back over the bandages.

"Wha' happened? You get the dog, Sammy?" Dean grunted, eyes taking in his surroundings.

"Yeah, it's all over," Sam said more to himself than his brother, if he were being honest. He quickly got up and reached behind him and grabbed one of their camp blankets that was on the floor of the Impala where Sam had thrown it before getting Dean inside. "Are you cold? You lost a bit of blood, you should stay warm…"

He tried to undo the blanket, but his hands had for some reason starting shaking even more than before. As he clumsily spread it over Dean and pulled it over his shoulders, Dean's eyes instantly latched onto his shuddering appendages and narrowed.

"You okay, Sam? What's wrong with your hands?"

Sam gave up with the blanket and sank back down into his former seat. He gave a bitter laugh, holding up his hands for both of them to see as they shook in the space between the two brothers. "They, uh, they haven't stopped shaking since the fight. Stupid, huh? After everything else we've been through…"

He trailed off as Dean cast him a look that was both sympathetic and understanding. For some reason that made a lump form in Sam's throat and he swallowed hard, suddenly blinking back wetness in his head. He ducked his head to hide the tears from Dean, when he felt his brother catch his traitorous hands between his own. Despite the blood loss, Dean's hands were warm as always, pressing Sam's own together with enough pressure that they had finally stopped shaking.

"I'm here, okay?" Dean said softly and Dean looked up to finally meet his brother's eyes, seeing Dean also fighting back emotion. "Got that?"

Sam swallowed thickly again and sniffed before nodding. "Yeah. I got that."

Dean shifted his grip to only one of Sam's hands, clasping it tight as he settled back against the Impala's back seat. Sam took a deep breath and finally felt his hands stop shaking so much.

He knew that in a way, he would never get over losing Dean, seeing him die like that. But he had his brother back now, and he couldn't get himself forget that either. In the end, having Dean there was all that mattered.


	2. Day Three: Delirium

Castiel jolted awake, trying to make sense of his surroundings. It looked like he was in an infirmary—or a lab…no, no this was the infirmary in the bunker. He hadn't spent much time in there, but he did recognize it. Why was he there?

He tried to sit up, and pain ripped through him. He looked down at himself, seeing his trench coat was gone and he was only in his torn and bloody dress shirt and trousers.

"Sam, Dean!" he tried to call, his voice nothing but a croak. He needed water.

Castiel pushed himself to his feet and staggered to the sink at one side of the room.

He turned it on and cupped his hands under it to drink from, but…

It was not water. It was blood.

Staggering back in horror, Castiel turned the facet off, glancing down at his hands, and seeing nothing on them after all. Had he been hallucinating?

"Sam! Dean!" he called again, more frantic. If he was hurt, where were they? Had they been hurt as well?

Something caught his eye on the other side of the room and he cautiously went to investigate. Blood. More blood. All over the floor, underneath the two metal tables. And on the tables were two bloody sheets covering two figures. An arm dangled from the side of the table, blood dripping off the still fingers…

Castiel felt sick, but he had to know. He reached out with a trembling hand and gripped one of the sheets pulling it away to see what it concealed.

He cried out in horror and staggered back before yanking the other one off as well.

It was Sam and Dean. They were obviously dead. Butchered, torn apart in ways Castiel hadn't seen since he'd gone for Dean in Hell.

"No," he breathed. "Please no."

"Hey, Cas."

Castiel spun around and staggered back against one of the tables as Lucifer walked into the room, wearing a blood covered apron and a twisted smile.

"You," Castiel growled.

"That's right," Lucifer grinned, advancing. "And you're next."

"Get away from me!" Castiel snarled, but Lucifer was on him in an instant, grabbing his arms.

"Cas, stop," he said, but his voice was wrong. It wasn't Lucifer's voice.

It was Dean's.

Castiel frowned, but when he looked up all he saw was the fallen archangel.

"Cas, listen, it's not real, whatever you're seeing is not real."

Castiel growled and shoved against Lucifer's chest, only to feel flannel instead of bloody canvas. He paused as arms lowered him to the ground and pulled him in tight as he continued to struggle.

"It's me, Cas, it's Dean," the voice said insistently and as Castiel slowly felt awareness come back, he smelled the familiar scent of the elder Winchester—whisky, gunpower and motor oil.

"Dean," he whispered, and blinked.

The blood on the floor was gone, he looked up but there was only one metal table there and it was pristine, free of bloody sheets and bodies. He looked back around to see Dean holding him at arm's length, staring worriedly at him.

"Dean?" he whispered again, hand shaking as it held onto the flannel.

"You back with me, Cas?" Dean asked, hands firm on his shoulders. "Whatever you're seeing isn't real, okay? Just pay attention to me."

But Castiel was having a harder and harder time doing that. He was dizzy. Everything around him was swirling and blurring, including Dean and he felt himself falling back into darkness.

XXX

Dean and Sam lowered Cas gently onto his bed, after dressing him in clean clothes. This was worse than Dean had thought. He'd just stepped out for a moment to talk to Rowena on the phone with Sam and when he'd come back to the infirmary Cas had been having a full-blown hallucination. He knew the hex would make Cas confused, delirious, but he hadn't expected _that._

So he and Sam had decided the best idea was to tuck him into his own bed, a more familiar surrounding.

Cas groaned and shifted and Sam put a hand worriedly on his forehead. "His fever is still there."

Dean pressed his lips into a thin line, and glanced at the recipe for the tincture Rowena had given them that should help Cas. It wasn't enough that he'd been caught in a trap and torn up by that witch, but she had left their angel with a nasty parting gift before Dean had shot her full of witch-killing bullets.

"I'll get that ready, you just keep an eye on him," Sam said and took the recipe, hurrying from the room.

Dean pulled the chair over from the desk and sat down. Cas' eyes were moving erratically under his eyelids. He groaned again and twisted his head from side to side. Dean got up restlessly and went to wet a cloth in the sink, returning to put it over Cas' fevered brow.

The angel's eyes fluttered open, glancing around without seeing anything. "Wh-where am I?" he murmured.

"Cas, hey, it's Dean," Dean said, sitting on the bed so Cas could see him and touching his arm, hoping the contact would help keep the angel from having another full-blown hallucination.

"Where am I?' Cas asked again, still not recognizing his surroundings.

"You're in the bunker. In your room," Dean told him.

Cas shifted uneasily, trying to get up. "I have to go. I have to…"

"Hey," Dean said, taking his shoulders and pushing Cas back down. "You're safe, Cas. It's just me and Sam here, whatever you're seeing is not real."

Cas shook his head, staring at Dean incredulously. "Sam…Sam's in the Cage," he said brokenly.

Sam walked into the room then, eyes widening as he heard what Cas said. Dean glanced up at him, and the younger Winchester hurried over, handing the tincture to Dean who began readying it in a syringe.

"Cas, hey, I'm not in the Cage, I'm right here," Sam said gently, taking the angel's hand in his. "Remember? You're in the bunker. You got hurt by a witch and she hexed you."

"Witch," Cas mumbled, blinking, his eyes finally focused on Sam. "Sam?"

Sam smiled and patted his arm gently. "Yeah, Cas. You're safe now, we're just giving you medicine."

Cas glanced over at Dean, eyes fixing on the syringe and jerking away. "No!" he said. "I don't…don't take my grace!"

Sam shot Dean a pained look, and Dean realized Cas was remembering that grace-sucking syringe.

"Cas, please, this is just medicine, it's gonna help you feel better," Dean said.

"No," Cas cried brokenly. "You're dead, Naomi. You're dead!"

Dean set the syringe aside and reached out, taking Cas' face in his hands as Sam wrapped an arm around his shoulders. "Cas, listen to me. It's Dean. Not Naomi. _Dean_."

Cas wasn't focusing on him. "I won't kill him," Cas whispered, tears falling from his eyes and sliding over Dean's thumbs.

Dean just wiped them away. "Cas. It's Dean and Sam. We're your brothers. You're safe."

"Dean…Sam…" Cas said and blinked again, finally seeming to recognize them. Sam eased him back against the pillows so he could see them both clearly, neither of them letting him go.

"That's right," Sam said, squeezing Cas' hand. "Now please let us help you get rid of the hex okay? It's just medicine in the syringe. I promise."

Cas still shifted nervously as Dean slowly reached for the syringe again, holding it up so Cas could see what he was doing.

"Just medicine," he reiterated as he pushed up Cas' sleeve and administered the cure.

Cas flinched, but didn't fight and he lay back down afterward as the Winchesters tucked him in and wiped his fevered face.

"You're both okay?" he murmured, eyes darting between both of them cautiously.

"Yes," Sam assured him. "We are."

"We're at the bunker?" Cas asked.

Dean nodded, smiling. "Nothing's getting in here we don't want to."

"Can you…stay?" Cas whispered.

"Of course," Dean replied, squeezing his shoulder. "Just rest."

And to his relief Cas did just that, looking a lot more peaceful than before as the cure started to take effect.


	3. Day Five: Fever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Today I did one of the alternate Whumptober prompts, since I wasn't feeling the 'Gunpoint' prompt. Thanks to everyone who offered suggestions for a replacement on Tumblr, but I went with Noxbait's suggestion of FeverxSam :)

In retrospect the fight had been stupid—and really 99% of the time they were. But Sam was pissed and Dean wasn't listening, so there was nothing else to do than separate for a while until they both cooled down.

Sam decided that he was going to work out his frustration on some monsters and took up one of the possible hunts that he and Dean had been looking into.

It turned out to be an easy one, just a ghoul. Sam took it out quickly enough once he found it. Unfortunately, the hunting portion had entailed tramping through a graveyard in the middle of a freezing rain and if Sam were being honest, he'd felt like he was coming down with a cold before he had even left the bunker. It was flu season, after all, and neither of them really bothered taking time out of their busy schedules to get flu shots. It would only stand to reason, on top of everything else, that Sam had caught something nasty.

He felt so horrible by the time he had finished disposing of the ghoul's body, that he wasn't sure he would make it back to his motel. Really, what he wanted was to be back in the bunker, with a cup of hot tea and honey for his worsening cough. He'd even let Dean try to shove soup down his throat—or he would if he didn't feel so nauseous.

Before he left the graveyard, he vomited into some bushes. The action made him feel light-headed and he staggered back to his car, grateful that the motel was only a few miles away.

When he got there he barely had the energy to strip to his boxers, letting his wet, freezing clothes fall to the floor as he collapsed onto the bed, chills wracking through him. He felt like hammered crap and buried his aching head into the pillow as he tugged the blankets over him and curled there, just trying to focus on not being sick to his stomach. He didn't have the energy to throw up again. He just wanted to sleep. He would feel better in the morning, he told himself, and then he would be able to drive back to the bunker.

But Sam didn't feel better in the morning. If anything, he felt worse. He could tell his fever was high, but not how high, everything was muddled, and he was so tired, but his body ached so much that he couldn't find a comfortable position on the bed.

He glanced around for his phone, wanting to call Dean, but he didn't see it. It was in his coat pocket and that was way over there by the door—which was too far away for him right now.

But he was going to have to get up anyway. His stomach was rebelling, and the last thing he wanted to do was throw up in bed.

He dragged himself out of the bed, steadying himself on the wall as everything spun, then staggered toward the bathroom, nausea overwhelming him.

He barely made it to the toilet, collapsing onto the tile that was freezing against his fevered skin, then threw up.

Even though he hadn't eaten anything in the last twelve hours, his body tried to rid itself of as much bile as possible, leaving Sam retching and light-headed.

The exertion was too much, and instead of attempting to make it back to bed, he simply lowered himself onto his side, pressing his hot cheek to the cool floor, which actually felt pretty good at that moment, and closed his eyes.

XXX

He didn't know how much later it was when he became aware of footsteps in his room. His hunter instinct came on, and Sam's eyes blinked open blearily. He scanned his surroundings for some kind of weapon but there was only a plunger and it was too far away. He sank against the ground, and closed his eyes again, suddenly not caring if it was the manager coming for more money, or a whole herd of ghouls.

"Sammy."

It turned out it was neither.

It was Dean.

The elder Winchester was kneeling beside Sam, a hand pressed to his forehead, cursing under his breath.

"You are burning up, kiddo," Dean grunted, smoothing some of Sam's hair back in a familiar gesture before he pulled his hand away.

"D'n?" Sam asked incredulously, hardly believing his brother was actually there. Maybe he was hallucinating now.

"Yeah, it's really me, no fever dream," Dean said fondly. "Thought you looked like you were getting sick before you left. I should be able to tell that by now. And when you wouldn't answer my calls, I thought I best come check on you."

Sam murmured something unintelligible even to himself and let his eyes slide close again. They hurt too much to keep going.

"Come on, let's get you back into bed," Dean told him, and with a lot of coaxing, he managed to get Sam on his feet and wrapped an arm around his waist to steady him as he led his little brother back to his bed.

Sam collapsed, the bed feeling wonderful on his aching body after the hard bathroom floor. Dean pulled the sheet over him and Sam heard him bustling around the room before heading out to get something from the car.

Sam wanted to sleep, but Dean nudged his shoulder when he came back.

"Hey, you can sleep in a minute, let's get something in you to help get that fever down."

Sam groaned, but sat up partially against his pillows, taking the pills Dean put into his hand and gratefully accepting the water bottle.

"You need to try and stay hydrated," Dean told him, arms folding over his chest as he watched Sam take several long sips to satisfy his brother. He then slumped back into the bed and Dean left again to return a second later with a wet cloth that he pressed against Sam's face and forehead.

Sam groaned at how good it felt, leaning into Dean's ministrations as he took a seat on the side of the bed.

"This really hit you hard, kiddo," Dean told him, sounding a little concerned.

"Spent the night in cold rain," Sam mumbled.

Dean cursed. "You should know better than to hunt sick. Shoulda called me."

They were silent for a few minutes, Dean washing the sweat off Sam's face and neck, cooling his fevered skin. It had been a long time since he'd done this, but it was just as soothing as it had been when Sam was a kid. He found himself losing tension he had never realized he'd had knowing his brother was here.

"Dean," he finally murmured. "'M sorry. 'Bout before."

His eyes were closed but he could sense Dean smiling. The elder brother moved some of Sam's hair away from his damp forehead. "Don't worry about it, Sammy. I don't even remember what we were fighting about."

"Me either," Sam admitted with a small chuckle.

Dean laid the cloth across his head and patted his shoulder, standing from the bed. "Get some rest. We'll head back to the bunker tomorrow if you feel up to the drive."

"'K," Sam murmured but was already almost asleep.

He was suddenly very glad that he wasn't alone anymore.


	4. Day Eight: Stab Wound

Gabriel had the bad habit of pissing people off. Sometimes that came back to bite him.

Especially when he was fighting an ancient evil that had somehow gotten their hands on a weapon that could hurt an archangel.

He wanted to blame Lucifer and Michael for getting him into this, and would have—if they'd even bothered sticking around to see what had happened to him.

But they couldn't seem to be bothered anymore. They only cared about casting their current problem back from whence it came like Dad asked. No one cared about their younger brother who was down for the count, stabbed through the gut, and bleeding out.

Well, he _probably_ wouldn't die, but he had no strength to heal himself, and he had no strength to get back to Heaven.

So, for the moment, it looked like he was going to just have to lie here until someone realized he was missing.

There was the sound of someone approaching, just as he was slipping into unconsciousness, losing hope in keeping his blood and grace inside of him where it belonged. This was probably it, something nasty coming to finish him off. This would be the end of the archangel Gabriel and he had his lousy big brothers to thank for it too.

Sometimes, it sucked to be him.

XXX

Castiel and Balthazar had gotten separated from the rest of their flight during the battle, but now that it was over, they were heading back to join up with the others angels before they went back to Heaven.

Lucifer and Michael had already left to deal with the monsters they had been hunting, but Castiel could sense Gabriel still, perhaps staying behind to make sure everything was cleaned up, and he and Balthazar thought they should join him.

"He's right over here. Gabriel!" Castiel called.

As they approached, he could tell something was wrong, even before he walked through the underbrush and came across their older brother, slumped against a rock, blood covering the front of his tunic.

"Bloody hell," Balthazar exclaimed.

"Gabriel!" Castiel cried in shock as he rushed forward to Gabriel's side.

The archangel's hand spasmed on the angel blade he was holding, but as his eyes flickered open and spotted the two lower angels, he seemed to relax.

"Oh, hey guys, thought you were the baddies."

"What happened?" Castiel asked, hands hovering over the wound in Gabriel's stomach, desperate to do _something_ even though he knew he couldn't heal an archangel.

"Aw, ya know, got on the wrong side of a blade. Just a scratch, don't worry too much." He ruined his nonchalant attitude by coughing. Blood spattered over his lips and down his chin as Castiel watched worriedly. "Dammit."  
"You need to get back to Heaven," Balthazar said.

"Yeah, about that," Gabriel said, spitting to one side with a grimace. "Wing got messed up too. Can't fly."

Castiel and Balthazar shared a worried look before the dark haired angel looked back with determination on his face. "Then we'll help you," Castiel said firmly as he began to tear the hem of his tunic. He reached out and removed Gabriel's hand from over his wound and tied the makeshift bandage tightly around his waist.

Gabriel grunted a pained protest, and slumped back against the rock, but the pressure should keep Gabriel from losing too much more blood and, more importantly, grace, so Castiel was satisfied.

"Why don't you just call Lucifer of Michael?" Gabriel grunted. "They can heal me here."

"They're already gone," Balthazar told him. "Locking up our prisoners of war."

Something passed over Gabriel's face for a moment before he shook it away. Castiel felt something in his chest pang, understanding Gabriel's feeling of abandonment. "Come on," he told his older brother. "We'll help you back."

Together he and Balthazar hauled Gabriel to his feet. The archangel nearly collapsed, and the two younger angels had to support all his weight as he coughed again, more blood dripping from his mouth. Castiel and Balthazar shared a worried look over his head.

"Hold on," Castiel murmured and they both took off through the ether, Gabriel bourn between them on their way back to Heaven.

As soon as they got there, Gabriel collapsed, slipping out of their grip.

"Help! Someone get a healer!" Castiel called frantically as he knelt beside his brother and touched Gabriel's grace with his own. Gabriel was weak, weaker than Castiel had thought. Blood was already pooling around the archangel where he lay on the stark white floor of the entry room in Heaven.

Thankfully, help was already on the way, and some of the healer angels loaded Gabriel onto a stretcher and carried him away to the infirmary.

Castiel and Balthazar were about to follow when Zachariah called to them, walking up with a disgruntled frown.

"There you two are! I need your report immediately!"

Castiel cast one last look at his wounded brother but knew he couldn't do anything about that now. He would have to see Gabriel later.

XXX

Gabriel woke and instantly wished he hadn't. He took stock of himself and couldn't remember the last time he'd felt this bad. Yikes.

"Gabriel?"

He turned his head to the side to see the figure sitting anxiously beside his bed.

Castiel.

Gabriel furrowed his brow slightly but then recalled him and Balthazar finding him in the woods. He had them to thank for getting him back here. They were good kids, no matter what the other angels wanted to say. But then he had never paid much attention to angels like Zachariah or Naomi anyway.

"Hey, Cassie, what's up?" he croaked.

The lesser angel slumped in relief. "How are you?"

Gabriel frowned and shrugged. "Better."

"Lucifer only just stopped by to heal the worst of it then left," Castiel told him, shifting awkwardly. "I…I thought someone should stay for when you woke up."

Gabriel allowed himself a smile, genuinely touched by his little brother's care. It kind of tore his heart out a little to think that the kid cared more about him than Lucifer who he had always been so close to. Until recently anyway, when his big brother just didn't seem to be himself anymore.

"Hey, thanks, Cas," he said. "For what you and Balthazar did."

"We couldn't leave you there," Castiel said fiercely, hands clenching in his lap. "Especially since I doubt the others would have come back…" He stopped, as if realizing what he was saying and flushed.

Gabriel chuckled. "Nah, you're right. Those losers wouldn't have come back for me. You're a good kid, Cassie, don't let anyone tell you differently."

Castiel gave an awkward shrug, but looked a little relieved. "I'm just glad you're going to be okay."

Gabriel smiled. "Ah, you know me. I'm always okay."

Castiel gave a wavering smile and Gabriel relaxed. Things had been tough lately, but if there were still angels like Cas in Heaven, then…maybe they all had hope after all.


	5. Day Nine: Shackles

"Don't bother struggling, angel, you won't get free."

Castiel gritted his teeth, glowering at his captor who was smirking from his position a few feet away, enjoying the struggles of his captive. "Don't be so sure," Castiel snarled.

The man, a witch, laughed. "Oh, I'm pretty sure. These chains are covered in sigils that can keep you there for as long as I want. Trust me, I did my research."

He had, damn him. Castiel knew that he wouldn't get free, no matter how hard he tried. He was bound on his knees, hands shackled behind him and chains wrapped around his torso before attaching to a loop in the floor. The chains only tightened and burned every time he shifted, somehow binding both his vessel and his true form. Every breath tightened them a fraction. He would stop breathing if he could, but with his grace bound, he needed it to sustain his body.

"Now you just sit tight and play your part. The Winchesters will be here soon, I'm sure, and you'll be the first thing they see when they walk through that door before I kill them."

Castiel growled and shifted forward instinctively before biting back a cry as the chains tightened, biting into his grace with searing heat.

The witch chuckled and reached out to pat his cheek mockingly, forcing Castiel to shift again to get away from him in disgust. "How adorable. I'd best shut you up though, so you don't go warning anyone too early."

Castiel struggled as much as he dared as the witch shoved a cloth between his teeth and tied it tightly behind his head. He growled, but stayed still after that, the chains so tight now they were biting into his flesh on their own and every tiny shift he made sent them tightening only all the more.

It was then that he heard the familiar rumble of the Impala and his eyes flew to the door, grunting in distress. If only he could warn Sam and Dean…

"Show time," the witch said gleefully and retreated to one side, where he had a table set up with all his magic. Castiel didn't know what he had planned for the Winchesters, but he knew it wasn't going to be good.

He expected the door to burst open, for Sam and Dean to come in and for the witch to activate whatever spell he had ready, but instead there was a knock on the door.

The witch looked as surprised as Castiel felt and called out. "Come in."

The door opened and Sam stepped inside, empty hands visible. His eyes met Castiel's and he gave a very small nod before moving further in. "Look, we're here, tell us what you want and let Cas go."

The witch stepped toward Sam, smirking. "Let him go? Did you let my sister go? No. No, I'm going to kill him and then you and your brother so you know what it feels like." He walked over to Castiel and kicked him in the side, forcing the angel to flinch. He cried out as the chains tightened around him even more viciously, cutting into his skin in some parts.

"The more he moves, the tighter these get," the witch said, kicking Castiel again and repeating the process. "Eventually, they'll cut him into little bite-sized pieces. I'd like to see that, wouldn't you?"

Before Sam could reply, the window spiderwebbed with cracks around a small hole, and the witch staggered back, a spot of red between his eyes. His stunned face was turned up toward the ceiling as he collapsed on the ground, dead.

Dean was in the room a second later, gun held at the ready. "Clear?" he called.

"Clear," Sam said, turning to Castiel and inspecting the chains as he gently removed the gag. "Cas, you okay?"

"I will be once these are off, I can't move," Castiel told him.

"What the hell?" Dean demanded, coming closer and inspecting the chains himself. He reached out to tug one, before Castiel could warn him not to.

"Dean, don't!" Sam cried, as the runes on the chains flared and they tightened, causing Cas to cry out at the pain.

Dean snatched his hands away. "He's dead, how come this is still active?"

"It's rune work," Castiel said stiffly. "Sigils. It's not directly linked to a casting spell."

Sam chewed his lip before turning to the table where a book sat. "Okay, let's look at this. Maybe there's something…"

Before he could go on, Castiel felt the chains tightening without him moving. He grunted, trying to stay still, but the burning runes flared up again, and the chains continued to tighten further and further.

"Dean, Sam!" he panted, before crying out as it felt like they were crushing not only his vessel but his true form. His ribs were creaking from the strain and his wings, which had also been bound with the rest of him felt like they were going to snap.

"Screw this," Dean snarled, yanking an angel blade out of his belt.

"Dean, wait!" Sam cried, but Dean was already taking the blade to the chains, slashing though the runes on the shackles that bound Castiel's wrists.

At the initial attack the chains only tightened further and Castiel screamed breathlessly at the pain. Sam rushed forward, holding him upright so he couldn't move and hurt himself more than he already was.

But as Dean gouged the runes, Castiel could start to feel the chains slacken. Runes stopped glowing and he could breathe a little easier.

"I think it's working," Sam said, eyes widening.

Encouraged, Dean dug the blade in further, and when he had defaced the final sigil, the shackles sprang open by themselves, and the chains clattered to the ground around him.

Castiel sagged forward into Sam and Dean's waiting hands, panting for breath. His vessel and his true form were aching. He stretched his wings gladly with a wince and pressed a hand to his chest, shocked there were no broken ribs.

"You good?" Dean asked, ducking to look into Castiel's face.

Still out of breath, Castiel nodded.

They sat there just holding him up for a few long minutes before Castiel got his breath back and didn't feel quite so sore. The Winchesters helped him to his feet and he staggered slightly as they latched onto his elbows.

"Let's get the hell out of here," Dean said. "Sam, torch this place."

Sam did so gladly as Dean got Castiel into the car. They drove away with the orange glow in their rearview mirror and Castiel couldn't even be bothered to feel bad about it.

The witch should have known, after all. You should never mess with the Winchesters and their family.


	6. Day Eleven: Stitches

Dean heaved a silent sigh of relief as he pulled into the motel parking lot, gritting his teeth as the act of turning the steering wheel aggravated his hunting injuries.

He grunted and dug his wallet from his pocket, tossing it to Jack who was sitting in the passenger seat. "Go get us a room. I can't go in there all bloody."

"Are you sure you're okay?" the kid asked, eyes wide and worried.

"Yeah, I'm good, go."

Jack hurried to the office and Dean waited, gnawing his lip against the pain slicing through his back as he leaned forward against the steering wheel. He couldn't tell quite how bad it was, but he could make a guess, taking into account the hot blood that was still dripping down his back and seeping into the back of his jeans. That Michael-charged werewolf had not been happy to see him, and had taken it out on him. But at least Jack had stayed out of the line of fire mostly. The kid was getting there with his fighting skills, but they still left something to be desired and Dean was scared he would end up with his throat slashed going up against a big bad someday. Luckily that hadn't been today though.

Today, Dean's back had gotten the brunt of it.

Jack came back with a key and a proud look on his face and Dean shook his head, a wave of affection sweeping over him.

"I got the room," Jack said as he got back in the car. "It's number 15."

"Let's go then," Dean told him and drove Baby over to the spot in front of the room.

They went inside, and Dean dumped his duffle bag wearily on the bed closest to the door, before he made his way stiffly to the bathroom, gingerly stripping his coat off.

"I'm gonna wash up," he said.

"Dean," Jack called, following him like a puppy. "Um…Do you need help?"

"Do I need help taking a shower?" Dean deadpanned, raising an eyebrow.

"No, I mean, your back," Jack amended. "You can't reach it. I can help."

"I'll be fine," Dean told him and slipped past him into the bathroom, closing the door.

Once he was inside, he slumped, gripping the sink and taking a couple deep breaths. It friggin' hurt. But he didn't want the kid to know. Jack felt terrible now that he was without his powers, that he couldn't heal anyone. Dean didn't want to make him feel worse, and it wasn't like the young hunter in training knew a ton about first aid either.

Still…when Dean peeled his shirts off and turned his back to the mirror with a wince, he swallowed hard at the inevitability. Those wounds were a hell of a lot worse than he had thought, deep too. One would definitely need stitches though the others would probably be okay with butterflies. He bit his lip, before he made his decision.

"Hey, Jack," he called. "Bring the first aid kit from my bag."

The boy appeared within seconds, as if he had been waiting for Dean to call. His eyes widened in concern as he caught sight of Dean's back.

"Dean! Those are really bad!"

Dean shrugged. "Yeah, worse than I thought. Guess I could use the help after all."

Jack nodded and Dean sat down on the toilet, turning his back to Jack and leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees, trying to take as much pressure off his back as possible.

"What do I do first?" Jack asked, suddenly seeming at a loss.

"First you wash your hands," Dean told him. "Then you clean the wounds, a little gauze and peroxide will work."

Jack nodded and did as he was told. Dean flinched as the peroxide fizzled angrily against his back and he felt the hot liquid drip down his skin. Jack sopped it up and dabbed gently at the long slices.

Dean couldn't help but chuckle. "Well, you have a better bedside manner than Sam, I'll give you that. Are they clean?"

"Yes," Jack told him. "Dean, this one it very deep." He brushed the top of the wound—the worst one—that had dug into the meat of Dean's shoulder between his scapula and his spine. "Will it need stitches?"

"Is it still bleeding?"

"Yeah…pretty badly."

Dean could feel it trickling down his skin himself, and clenched his jaw. The last thing he wanted to do was make Jack stitch him up, especially since he was pretty sure the kid had never done it before, but it didn't look like they had another choice at the moment. Dean was going to need to drive back to Lebanon tomorrow.

"Alright," Dean sighed. "I guess we don't really have a choice then. You have any idea how to do a suture?"

To his surprise Jack nodded. "Sam taught me after I lost my powers but…I only did it on a steak."

"Well, just pretend I'm nothing other than that," Dean told him.

Jack hesitated slightly and then gave a sharp nod. "Okay."

He rummaged back in the kit and came up with the needle and thread. He threaded it, and Dean waited, not looking forward to this and really wanting a whisky right about now to dull what was coming, but he didn't want to spook the kid, so he refrained.

"Okay, I'm ready," Jack said. He took a seat on the edge of the bathtub behind Dean to be at a better level.

Dean nodded and braced himself as Jack readied the first suture.

The needle dug into his flesh and Dean clenched his jaw, hands digging into his thighs to keep from making a sound. Yeah, he'd had a crapton of stitches in his day, but Sam was usually his seamstress and his little brother was pretty good at getting the needle in and through with minimal pain—after all, he'd had a lot of practice. Jack was clumsy and it showed.

By the second one, Dean was unable to hold back a grunt of pain, trying not to flinch.

"I'm sorry," Jack said quickly, sounding a little breathless, pulling his hands back suddenly.

"Jack, you good?" Dean gritted out.

"I'm hurting you," the kid said, pain in his voice.

"Well, yeah, you're sticking a needle through me, but it's fine, ignore me." Dean said.

Jack paled and looked like he might be sick. Dean reached over and patted his knee. "You don't have to do this, kid. We'll butterfly it, and it should hold okay until tomorrow."

"No," Jack said firmly. "No, I…if I had my powers I could heal you without all of this. It's just…I hate…"

"I know," Dean said gently. "I know it's hard, Jack, but you're doing good. Just keep going. I can handle it. Promise. I've had a lot worse."

Jack gave a wavering smile, but seemed to steady himself and finished the stitches.

It wasn't nice, and Dean kept back as many swears and grunts of pain as he could, but when it was done there were eight semi-neat stitches in his back. Then Jack butterflied the others and taped gauze over all of them.

"Did I do okay?" Jack asked as Dean stood up stiffly and turned to view the work in the mirror.

He shrugged with a smile, then winced. He reached out to pat Jack on the shoulder. "You did good, kid. Now how about you head across the street to that burger joint and grab us some dinner?"

Jack smiled and did just that.

Dean smiled fondly through the still lingering pain as he downed some pain meds and went to change his clothes. It might take Jack a while to get into his stride, but he was a hunter yet, and Dean knew that one day he would be a great one.


	7. Day Thirteen: Adrenaline

It had been three days. Three days since Dean had disappeared on a hunt, three days since Sam had slept or even been back to the bunker. He and Cas were scouring the town Dean had disappeared in and yet they still hadn't found their missing brother or any sign of where he might have been taken.

Sam was exhausted, but he wouldn't rest until they found Dean. It was too soon after thinking he had lost him to Amara, and Sam's own nightmare of being alone in that cellar while Toni Bevell tortured him—not knowing where Cas was or if he was okay, and thinking Dean was dead…Sam didn't want Dean to feel even an ounce of that. He needed to find his brother and get him back.

And then _finally_ they got a lead to an old farm property outside of town. There was a barn, a perfect place to hide someone you didn't want found. Sam should have waited for Cas, but he couldn't stand the thought of Dean stuck there another second.

He didn't even know _what_ had Dean. Honestly, at this point, he hoped it was the monsters he had been hunting, because if it was the British Men of Letters then…well, Sam shuddered to think what they were doing with his brother.

So he parked a little ways away so as not to alert Dean's captors and he gathered his weapons, studying the barn for any ways in that might not alert those inside.

That all went out the window though when Sam heard distant shouting. He caught his breath, and felt a surge of adrenaline shoot through his exhausted body, lending him wings as he raced toward the barn, throwing caution to the winds.

He burst through the door, only to see his brother strung up in the middle of the room, surrounded by vampires looking for a meal.

"Hey!" Sam shouted and flung the door wider.

The sunlight made the vamps cringe back, and it was enough of a distraction for Sam to launch himself forward, swinging his blade.

He was only running on adrenaline, he knew, could feel it surging through his body as he lashed out, taking off one vampire's head and then another. One of them grabbed him from behind, tried to sink its fangs in, but he spun around, throwing the vampire over his shoulder before he hacked its head off when it hit the ground.

He looked around, not even realizing he had gotten them all until Dean grunted.

"Damn, Sammy, when did you get all badass?" he slurred, craning his head painfully as he swung in the chains.

"Dean," Sam forced himself toward his brother, praying his adrenaline rush wouldn't wear off quite yet. He had to get Dean out of there and back to town—maybe to a hospital. He looked terrible.

Dean cried out as Sam reached up to release the manacles hooked to a chain. Dean crumpled on the ground before Sam could catch him. He'd been fed on several times already from the looks of it, and Sam doubted they'd even bothered to give him so much as food and water since they'd taken him.

"Hey, it's okay, I'll get you out of here," Sam said and helped his brother up, practically carrying him outside as Dean gritted his teeth and tried to hold back the cries of pain from the various wounds and bruises he had sustained. Sam didn't have time to take a full catalogue, but the bitemarks in his neck were the worst anyway. And, not knowing how much blood Dean had lost he knew he had to get him to the hospital quickly.

"Come on, just a little further," he said.

He could feel his own body growing weary. Dean felt heavier against him and Sam gritted his teeth and tried to will himself to make it. The adrenaline rush was quickly wearing thin, and Sam couldn't afford to collapse now.

He got Dean into the car and got behind the wheel. His hands were shaking and he fumbled with the key, but he was on the way to town soon enough, calling Cas to tell him to meet them at the hospital.

By the time they got there, Dean was mostly unconscious and Sam was struggling himself. It seemed like that surge of adrenaline that had come with the fight had sapped the only energy he'd had left. He knew even caffeine wouldn't do it for him this time. He was going to crash and crash hard.

At the hospital, he roused Dean enough to get him inside the ER but after that, he was loaded on a stretcher as Sam told them a brief overview of what had happened (the fake version) and what his blood type was.

"Sam!"

Sam turned to see Cas hurrying into the waiting room, a worried frown between his brows.

"Where is he?"

"They took him back," Sam said, exhausted. "He's pretty messed up, but he should be fine once they get some blood into him." He suddenly felt dizzy, and had to brace a hand against the wall.

Cas' frown deepened and he reached out to grip Sam's shoulder, steadying him. "Sam, are you hurt?"

Sam shook his head but that just made his light-headedness worse. "No, no, I just…I'm exhausted."

"Yes, you haven't slept," Cas sighed in a longsuffering manner. "You need rest."

"Not until I know Dean's taken care of."

Cas pressed his lips into a thin line, but didn't protest. He knew better.

Thankfully, it wasn't long before a doctor came out and told them Dean was settled and in recovery.

Sam and Cas went back, and saw their brother sleeping while he received a transfusion. Sam let out of sigh of relief, and with it the rest of his energy.

He sagged, and Cas gripped his arm, keeping him barely upright.

Sam was barely aware of the angel maneuvering him to the other bed in the room and forcing him, without much need for force, onto it.

Before Sam knew it, he was out.

XXX

Sam woke later to a low thrum of conversation. He blinked, feeling muzzy but shockingly well rested.

He stirred and sat up, turning down the blanket someone had put over him. He was confused at first seeing the hospital surroundings, wondering if he'd been hurt, but then he remembered he wasn't the one who was supposed to be here.

He looked over to see Dean and Cas talking, while Dean ate some jello.

"Hey Sammy," Dean said as he glanced over and saw him awake. "How are you feeling?"

"I should be asking you that," Sam said rubbing his face.

Dean shrugged. "Ah, you know. Few pints of blood and I'm good. You on the other hand have been sleeping for twenty hours. Honestly, you're the only reason I haven't checked myself out yet."

Sam's eyes widened as he saw Cas nod.

"Well, you did need it," the angel said matter-of-factly.

"You know you need to take better care of yourself," Dean said. "The doc actually wanted to put you on an IV."

Sam stretched. "I'm fine. Just glad to have you back."

Dean smirked. "Yeah, glad to be back, little brother."


	8. Day Sixteen: Pinned Down

This had gone very bad very quickly. What had started out as just a regular hunt had turned into a nightmare when the newly coined Team Free Will had realized that it wasn't monsters causing the problems in the town, it was angels.

And they had unfinished business with the Winchesters and Castiel.

Castiel was standing in a room, separated from wherever Sam and Dean were, held tightly between two angels as Zachariah shook his head at him.

"You know, Castiel, I know you were never _really _good at following orders, but I thought that before this whole apocalypse debacle, we had gotten that taken care of. You were doing so well for a while!"

Castiel simply glared at his former superior. Yes, he had been better at following orders. Because he'd had nothing else to fight for. Because the consequences would have been…dire.

"Then why don't you just kill me and be done with it?" Castiel demanded, raising his chin. He could fight the angels, buy the Winchesters some time perhaps. He didn't have his powers anymore, not really, but he could get to his blade which they had simply left on a table within easy reach. And he'd do some damage with that.

Zachariah chuckled, a sound that made Castiel want to drive his blade directly through the bastard's neck. "I could, but why waste a soldier now that we're here at the end of times? No, you're not getting out of it so easy, Castiel, you're going back to Heaven, where I'm going to personally oversee your reeducation."

Castiel felt a shiver go down his spine despite himself. He was well acquainted with Zachariah's brand of 'reeducation'. He might go in defiant, promising he'd never give in, but Zachariah wouldn't stop until he was broken, until he had reshaped Castiel into a tool. It didn't matter that the apocalypse was nigh, Zachariah would consider the effort and time well spent.

"But first," Zachariah said. "I want you to have the joy of seeing Dean Winchester say yes to Michael." He snapped his fingers and the angel standing guard by the door left.

"He'll never say yes, Zachariah," Castiel growled firmly.

The higher angel rolled his eyes. "Yes, you keep saying that, and yet they haven't really seen what I can do, have they? And I just happened to have a matched set of Winchesters—they're always more useful in a pair."

Castiel felt ice flow through his veins. Zachariah wasn't wrong, the one thing that might get Dean to say yes was saving Sam's life—or keeping him from insufferable torment, because, as Zachariah clearly stated, in this case, death was not at all of use to him.

The door was shoved open and Sam and Dean were hauled inside by two more angels.

"Cas!" they cried upon seeing him and the angel made a split-second decision.

He used their arrival as a distraction and slammed his elbow into one of his captors, kicking the legs out from under the other, then leapt to snatch his blade.

"Sam, Dean, run!" he shouted as he took out one of the angels who rushed him.

Zachariah simply shook his head. "Bad idea, Castiel."

He waved his hand, throwing Sam and Dean to the ground as the guards congregated around Castiel and grabbed him again, keeping him firmly in place no matter how hard he struggled.

Zachariah nodded to the table. "Get him up there. I want him to have a good vantage point."

The angels heaved Castiel up bodily and slammed his back against the table and held him there. Castiel struggled and Zachariah bent to pick up his fallen angel blade.

"And where did that get you, Castiel?" he asked, shaking his head. "You really need to reconsider your life choices. Good thing you'll have plenty of time to do that." He reached out, grabbed Castiel's wrist and then slammed the blade down into his palm, pinning him to the table.

Castiel screamed at the agony, and didn't even have time to catch his breath before Zachariah took another blade and did the same thing with his other hand, effectively pinning him.

"Cas!" Sam and Dean cried, but Zachariah whipped around, striding over toward them.

"Now, you two," he said, menacingly. "You two, have given me enough trouble and it's time that ends. It's time you buckled down and did your job, Dean."

The elder Winchester climbed to his knees. "I told you I'd never say yes," he growled.

Zachariah sighed. "Yes, yes, you keep saying that, and yet." He waved a hand and Sam folded with a gasp, choking blood up onto the floor.

"Sammy!"

Castiel strained against the blades piercing his hands but the agony nearly blinded him. "Zachariah, don't do this!" he gasped.

"Shut up," Zachariah snapped at him and kicked Sam in the face.

Dean was on his feet in an instant, but two of the angels came and grabbed him by the arms, restraining him.

"You have two options, Dean," Zachariah told him, reaching down and dragging Sam up by his hair. "Either you say yes to Michael, or…"

Sam let out a choking gasp, eyes widening as his chest spasmed, fighting for breath.

"I just keep finding new ways to cause Sammy here pain."

Dean fought against his captors, snarling. "You son of a bitch. Let him go!"

One of the angels slammed a fist into his stomach and Dean folded, nearly collapsing.

Zachariah rolled his eyes. "Why bother saying that? It's not like it's going to change anything." He dropped Sam on the ground and kicked him in his stomach. Sam choked, blood dripping from between his teeth. "So, I guess you just made my day."

Castiel gritted his teeth and started to jerk on one of his hands. It was agony, but the blade piercing his palm started to give, and ease from the table. One last yank, had his one hand free.

Castiel yanked the blade from his palm with his teeth and swiftly drew a sigil on the table.

"Zachariah!"

One of the guards spotted him, but it was too late. Castiel slammed his palm against the sigil and all the other angels in the room disappeared with a blast of light and furious cries.

Castiel dropped back against the table in relief, panting, as he heard the Winchesters stirring.

"Sammy?" Dean called, helping his brother into a sitting position.

"Yeah, I'm good," Sam grunted, spitting blood from his mouth, one arm curled around his middle. "Go see to Cas."

Dean gently ran a hand over Sam's hair then was beside Castiel in another second, cringing as he saw the other blade still stuck in his hand.

"Hey, thanks for that," Dean said sincerely.

Castiel shook his head. "I couldn't let Zachariah do that."

Dean took a hold of the blade and put his other hand on Castiel's shoulder. "This is gonna hurt." He said and yanked.

Castiel's back arched up as he cried out, but he was free. Dean helped him sit up and produced a couple handkerchiefs from his pocket to wrap around Castiel's hands.

"You gonna heal?" he asked worriedly as he tied knots in the makeshift bandages.

Castiel pressed his wrapped hands close to his chest, breathing through the agony. "Yeah. Eventually."

Dean pressed his lips into a thin line, but gathered both the blades, tucking one into Castiel's coat, before he helped the angel stand then turned back to his brother, helping Sam to his feet as well. "Let's get the hell out of here."

Castiel agreed whole-heartedly.


	9. Day Eighteen: Infection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Once again using one of the alternate Whumptober prompts today, because I think the idea I had for this one was too much like another I had written, so here we are, enjoy some Dean whump! I have another SPN prompt tomorrow :)

Dean winced as he peeled back the bandage, the tape sticking to the tender skin around the gash across his ribs. He bit his lip as he revealed it.

He'd gotten it in a fight with a rougaru last week, and it still hurt. In fact, it still looked pretty bad too. The stitches Sam had put in pulled painfully, and some were red around the edges. A bit of off-color discharge was on the bandage as Dean threw it into the trash, nausea welling up at the sight. Yeah, so the wound may be infected. But they didn't have time to deal with it right now. He'd figure that out once they got back from their next hunt.

There was a knock on the door before Sam peeked his head in and Dean instantly dropped his t-shirt back in place, not wanting Sam to see the wound and fuss over him when they needed to go. He couldn't afford to sit this one out, not with Cas human now, and still getting his sea legs. It looked like they would be going up against a whole vamp nest and Dean knew it needed to be all hands on deck.

"Hey, are you ready?" Sam asked.

"Yeah, just grabbing my gear."

Sam nodded and left again. Dean let out a fortifying breath and pulled his shirt up again, gripping it in his teeth as he applied a new bandage. Then he grabbed his duffle, cringing at the effort of hefting it over his shoulder, and went to join Sam and Cas.

XXX

Stake outs were never fun, but this one seemed even worse to Dean. His body ached, his head ached, his wound was _unbearable_ and all of this was making it really hard to concentrate.

He nearly jumped when Sam opened the car door, slipping inside with food and coffee from his run to the gas station.

"Got the snacks," he said, handing them out. "Hey, you okay?"

Dean had been looking at the food with distaste, his stomach also a little queasy. "Hm? I'm fine," he said.

"You just look a little flushed," Sam said.

"It's fricken' hot in here," Dean retorted, taking the coffee and giving it a long sip.

"Sam, Dean," Cas warned and they turned to look out the window.

The vamp they had pegged was leaving the building and getting into a car.

"Show time," Dean said and started the Impala up, pulling out behind the vampire.

They followed it to an old abandoned hotel in a pretty unpopulated part of town—the perfect place for monsters to hide out.

"Let's go," Dean said, dragging himself out of the car. He paused a moment, suddenly lightheaded and masked it by holding onto the roof of the car as he closed the door. He took several deep breaths, his wound pulling as he did, then went to grab his machete from the trunk.

"Dean, are you sure you're all right?" Sam asked, concerned. "You look a little sick."

"I'm fine," Dean grunted, but he was beginning to think he had a fever, and not from a cold. He was really gonna have to get that wound looked at after this.

Neither Sam nor Cas looked convinced of his reassurance and, frankly, neither was he. He shook his head and followed them into the hotel. They were already here, there was nothing he could do about it.

There was no one down on the lower floor when they entered, but they could hear movement on the next floor up. They crept up the stairs as silently as possible and tried to see where the vampires might be hiding.

There was a muffled sound in one room and Dean stopped the others, going to open the door.

Inside, they found three young girls bound and gagged. They hurried inside, and quickly released them.

"Are you okay, did they hurt you?" Sam asked.

"Did they make you drink anything?" Dean followed up grimly.

The girls tearfully shook their heads, then one screamed.

Dean and the others whipped around as a vampire launched itself at them.

"They're ours, hunter!" it snarled.

Cas was closest and lashed out with his machete, but the vampire was fast and the blade sliced his arm instead of his neck. He shoved Cas aside into the wall and rushed Sam and Dean.

The two of them surged forward, and Dean swung, only to have his wound pull and agony shoot through him. He gasped, doubling over.

"Dean!" Sam cried as the vampire turned toward him, spotting weak prey. The vamp lashed out at Sam, throwing him into Cas who was trying to rejoin the fight, then had Dean slammed against the wall an instant later, fangs close, nearly brushing his throat as Dean struggled weakly, his body simply not having his usual strength. He wrestled with the vampire for the machete, the blade pressing closer and closer to the hunter's throat until it started to slice into his skin. A drop of blood slid down Dean's neck.

The vampire inhaled deeply and leaned in, licking the drop of blood from Dean's skin before he cringed and backed away. "Your blood is tainted!" he snarled. "You're sick!"

Sam was on him then, swinging the machete and taking the vamp's head off. Dean gasped and slumped against the wall.

"You okay?" Sam asked him.

"Come on, we need to go see if we can find the others," Cas said, as he was helping the girls to their feet and they huddled around him tearfully. "The girls said there were at least five of them."

Dean nodded and took a step forward, trying to catch his breath. Dizziness overcame him, though and he reached for the wall, missing it, and then felt himself falling.

"Dean!"

Arms caught him before he could hit the ground, but that was the last thing he remembered before the darkness overcame him.

XXX

Dean woke later to the familiar, ominous sounds of a hospital. He groaned and raised a hand to rub over his face.

"Hey, Dean, how are you?"

Dean opened his eyes and glanced over to see Sam worriedly sitting beside his bed. Cas had been pacing the room, but he came over as soon as Sam addressed Dean.

"Mm," Dean grunted, wincing as he shifted and felt the wound in his side pull. He raised a hand to touch it, but Sam grabbed his wrist to keep him from doing so.

"Don't, the doc stitched you up again."

"Hurts worse than before," Dean grunted.

"They had to flush it out," Cas informed him. "You'd gotten an infection."

"Why the hell didn't you tell us it was that bad?" Sam demanded, anger born of worry coloring his voice. "You're lucky we caught it when we did, otherwise you would have been a lot worse off. And you should know better than to hunt when you're injured."

"And don't forget that I can't heal you anymore," Cas added, a pained expression on his face.

Dean closed his eyes again. "Look, I'm sorry. I know I'm an idiot. I don't know what I was thinking."

Sam sighed tiredly, and ran a hand over his hair. "Well, I'm just glad you're okay. They want you to stay for a couple days and are giving you antibiotics."

"Screw that, I'm getting out of here tomorrow," Dean grunted, but he was already falling back to sleep.

Sam huffed a laugh. "Okay, whatever you say, Dean."

"Hm," Dean murmured before he was completely asleep.


	10. Day Nineteen: Asphyxiation

The house was old and hadn't been lived in for years—just the kind that teenagers liked to dare each other to go into or hide out in to drink and smoke.

Which is how three local teenagers had been found dead in the last month.

Dean was laid up from the last hunt with his ankle in a brace so Sam and Cas went out to take care of this one by themselves. A ghost didn't really require three people anyway, even the ghost of a serial killer who had killed people by torturing them and suffocating them in the basement of his house.

Which is where they were headed now.

"The EMF meter is indicating that something is definitely here," Cas said as he held the device in front of him as it gave off a high-pitched sound.

Sam nodded. "Yeah, this is apparently where he performed his murders, and where they found all the kids, so it would make sense he's still haunting the basement."

Cas glanced over at him. "Dean is right, you are very obsessed with serial killers."

Sam shrugged self-consciously. "I just find it interesting, that's all. You know, they're not that different from the monsters we chase. They have patters and specific ways to catch them too…" he trailed off as a sound from below was heard. He and Cas stopped at the top of the stairs to the basement and pulled out their rock salt loaded guns.

They crept below, and Sam reached out to open the door as Cas covered him. The door opened with a creak, and Sam winced as he stepped down into the basement, but nothing jumped out at them and there were no visible apparitions coming out of the shadows.

Sam pointed his flashlight around the room. "Okay, let's see if we can find what he's attached to."

They each took a side of the room, but didn't get very far before the door to the upstairs slammed closed and the temperature in the room dropped significantly. Sam's breath puffed out in front of him as he looked around warily, then spotted movement behind Cas and shouted out, pointing his gun.

"Cas! Behind you!"

Cas whirled around a second too late, and the ghost slammed him back against the wall. Cas went limp, collapsing to the ground.

Sam shot at the ghost but he had already disappeared.

"Cas!" Sam called, but the angel didn't reply.

That was when something slammed into the back of his head and he too collapsed.

XXX

Sam woke on his back on a hard, rusty metal table, his hands and ankles both manacled. The ghost appeared beside him, a huge grin on his face as Sam struggled.

"Cas!" he called, hoping the angel was awake.

He heard a muffled grunt, and looked over to see a lump of plastic tarp, wriggling on the ground. Sam bit his lip, hoping Cas would be able to get out of that himself otherwise they were both screwed.

The ghost let out a breathy chuckle, obviously enjoying himself, and raised a knife.

"No!" Sam cried as the blade sliced across his chest and arms. He struggled, but there was nothing he could do.

The ghost made several cuts in his flesh, before he seemed to get bored and went to retrieve more of the plastic that he had covered Cas with.

"No, no, no," Sam pleaded, knowing where this was going. Cas may not need to breathe, but he did.

The ghost leered and forced the plastic over Sam's face.

Sam struggled as much as he could, head whipping from side to side. He yanked at the old manacles in the hopes that they would give, but they only cut into his flesh.

It was getting harder to breathe, and just before he blacked out, the ghost took the tarp off, gave him a few desperate breaths, and then slammed it down again.

Sam hated the feeling of suffocation, he tried to turn his head even just a little to find some air but this ghost was strong and had wrapped his head in the plastic so he couldn't avoid it. Sam's lungs spasmed as he choked for a breath, tears streaming down his cheeks and for a moment he almost gave a panicked laugh at the thought he might drown himself.

Darkness was clouding his vision, and his body scrabbled frantically for some purchase even without him noticing. Then, finally, as he thought he couldn't possibly last another second, there was the sound of a gun and the pressure on the plastic over his face stopped.

Something clattered on the ground and the sound of a scream proceeded a flash of light that Sam wasn't sure was real or in his imagination. He was still floating between consciousness and darkness, hovering as he waited for the next few seconds to see if he would find a breath of air.

"Sam!"

Hands practically ripped the plastic from off his head and Sam gasped in a breath, choking on the air instantly as his lungs continued to spasm. He coughed as Cas simply broke the manacles and hauled him upright, a hand on his shoulder.

"Sam, just breathe," the angel coaxed as Sam continued to sob for breath.

"Wh-what…?" he tried between gasps.

"It was his knife," Cas told him. "I burned it. And he burst into flame, so I assume it worked."

Sam nodded, still taking deep breaths, though it was a little easier this time. "Good. Good." He gritted his teeth as he doubled over, hand pressed to his chest where there were several deep cuts. Cas gently removed his hand and a healing glow lit up the room, as Sam felt the pain recede.

"Come on, we're done here," Cas told him and helped Sam stand before collecting their guns and flashlights and gripping Sam's elbow to keep him upright on the way up the stairs.

Sam didn't really feel well until they got out into the open air. Then he felt he could finally breathe easily.

Cas turned to him, his brow furrowed worriedly. "Are you sure you're okay?"

Sam nodded jerkily. "Y-yeah. It's just…Lucifer liked to do that to me. Though usually with him, he simply took my lungs out…"

Cas squeezed his shoulder in silent sympathy. "Well, it's over now. Let's go back home."

Sam nodded, agreeing whole-heartedly.


	11. Day Twenty-One: Laced Drink

Dean hadn't been planning on picking anyone up at the bar, but…well, they'd just finished a hunt, and it had been a while since he'd blown off some steam like _that_. And really, she was the one who approached him first so…how could he say no to that?

"Hey, handsome," she said with a sultry smile, coming to sit at the bar next to him. "What are you doing here all alone?"

"I could ask the same of you," Dean replied with a grin.

She let out a soft laugh and leaned toward him in a way that best showed off her assets. "Well, I'm not alone now. Maybe you could buy me a drink…?" She looked at him expectantly.

"Dean," he said.

"I'm Charlotte," she replied. "It's nice to meet you, Dean."

And it had gone from there, until they decided to go back to her place.

"Why don't we get out of here?" she suggested, a hand sliding up his thigh. "I have a great bottle of wine back at my place."

"Sounds good," Dean said. He wasn't much of a wine guy, but he was definitely into everything else Charlotte had going.

He thought about texting Sam who was still with Cas back at the motel room, but figured they wouldn't worry if he stayed out. Sam knew Dean well enough to figure out what had happened.

Charlotte's apartment was small yet elegant, rather luxurious, really. Dean felt a bit out of place in his jeans and flannel as he stood in the small living room, looking at the expensive stereo system, and wishing it would play vinyl.

Charlotte reappeared with two glasses of wine, handing one to Dean.

"It's an '83, a good year," she told him.

"Hm, well admittedly not much of a wine guy," Dean told her. His phone buzzed in his pocket and he quickly snatched it, seeing a text from Sam before simply turning it off and setting it on a table. _Not now, little brother._

"But, I can learn," he grinned and clinked glasses with her before taking a sip.

He felt strange before he had even lowered the glass from his lips. He felt something coating his tongue as a strange fuzzy sensation overcame his body. He blinked hard, stepping back and setting the glass down.

"What's wrong?" Charlotte asked all too innocently.

"What did you put in it?" Dean growled, reaching for his gun, only to remember he hadn't brought it to the bar.

Charlotte just smiled and took a sip of her own. "I don't know what you mean."

"You…" Dean growled, before he lost control of his legs and collapsed. He reached for his phone, but Charlotte stepped forward and slapped it away from his hand, standing over him as it clattered across the floor. Her eyes shifted to something reptilian and that was the last thing Dean saw before he succumbed to whatever was in his drink.

XXX

There were few things worse than waking up tied to a bed after getting rufied. Dean groaned, and yanked at the chains that tied his spread-eagled to the bed and opened his eyes looking around.

"Oh good, you're up. I didn't want you to miss this next part."  
He whipped around to see Charlotte standing by the bed, her face a mask of dangerous beauty now, without any of the teasing smiles from before.

"The hell?" Dean growled. "Lemme go!"

"Not a chance," she snapped and leaned over him with a look of satisfaction, trailing her long fingernails down his cheek and throat. "I want to savor this."

"Look, it's not that I don't love kinky chicks, but do I at least get a safeword?" he slurred.

"You don't deserve any mercy, Dean Winchester," she spat, gripping him tightly by the chin so he was forced to look at her. "Not after what you did to my sisters!"

Her eyes flared purple and her teeth turned into fangs. Dean's eyes widened as suddenly all of this made sense.

"A vetala," he grunted as she let his head fall back onto the pillow. "Thought we'd gotten all of you."

"You didn't," she said. "When we learned that hunters were onto us, my older sisters made me lie low, but you just killed them!"

"Well, sweetheart that's what we do," Dean said. "And you were killing people."

"For food," she retorted. "And that's what you'll be. I'm going to drain you dry. But not quite yet," she reached to the side table and picked up Dean's phone. "First your brother is going to come here, thinking he needs to pick you up after having too many drinks. And then I'm going to make you watch as I tear out his throat. Him and your friend."

"Like hell Sam and Cas will fall for that," Dean growled.

She smirked as she sent the text. "We'll see. In the meantime, I want an appetizer."

That was all the warning Dean got before she was on top of him, her fangs in his neck. Dean cried out, thrashing against his bonds, but she'd tied him up good and she was a lot stronger than he'd thought.

It was then that the door slammed open and two figures burst into the room.

"Hey!" Sam shouted.

Charlotte looked up, mouth horrifically covered in blood from feeding and fury crossed her face as she leapt off the bed toward Sam and Cas but wasn't able to reach either of them before Sam swung his blade and severed her head.

Dean cringed as blood sprayed across him, but slumped in relief, though his neck was on fire.

"Dean!" Sam cried as he and Cas hurried to cut him free.

"Hey, Sammy," Dean slurred. "Didn't remember inviting you on this date."

Sam gave him a bitchface as he sawed through the ropes on Dean's hands while Cas took his feet. "Yeah, well, not long after you left, Cas and I found several other murders where the other two vetalas couldn't have been so we started thinking there might be more. Then I get a weird text about you being drunk at a woman's house and we didn't buy it."

"Yes, you hadn't been gone long enough to drink enough for _you_ to get drunk," Cas said pointedly.

Dean frowned, but wasn't even upset. He sat up with Sam's help and Cas healed the wound on his neck, though couldn't seem to do anything for the venom she had laced his drink with.

"Well, whatever. Case officially closed. I want to go to bed."

Sam huffed a laugh and helped Dean up. "Okay, Dean. Just…next time, can you follow your own advice and watch your drinks?"

Dean grunted. "Yeah, yeah."

But he knew he had been lucky this time. One of these days, he just really wanted to be able to hook up at a bar without complications.


	12. Day Twenty-Five: Humiliation

Castiel tugged desperately at the chain locked around the bedpost, but it wasn't budging, and with his grace locked down he didn't have enough strength to simply break it. He kicked the bedpost in frustration, furious at his helpless situation, furious with himself for getting caught in the first place.

The door to his glorified cell opened and a tall, black-haired woman stepped inside, heels clicking on the floor. A cruel, triumphant smile touched her lips as she stepped over to him.

"Ah, and how is my pet today?"

Castiel glared balefully at the woman—well, no, she was not a woman, really, but a powerful witch. A witch who knew too much about angels. He'd been stupid enough to get caught in her clutches, and given her exactly what she had always wanted.

A pet angel.

"You had best cheer up, I can't have you all sullen at my party," the witch said, a hint of danger in her voice. She reached out and grabbed the golden chain etched with Enochian sigils that attached to the collar around his neck, tugging it warningly. "And remember, one peep out of you, and I cut your tongue out."

Not that he could speak even now. The spell on the collar was muzzling both his true voice and his vessel's vocal chords. Castiel continued to hold her gaze until she yanked him forward with a sharp tug on the chain, forcing him off of the bed and to his knees with a grunt, the metal collar biting into his neck.

"Someday you'll learn to be obedient," she said and reached behind him, sinking her fingers into the feathers of his exposed wings. Several sharp words lashed from her tongue and his wings were encased in agony. He gave a strangled cry and bowed forward until the pain subsided. The witch grabbed his chin and tilted his face up, nails digging into his flesh.

"No funny business or you know what I'll do to you. I'd hate to see those pretty wings damaged, but if it's the only way you'll learn a lesson, I suppose we'll just have to do what needs to be done."

Castiel glowered at her as she released his chain.

"Now, show me your gratitude for giving you a nice cell and food instead of leaving you in my cellar to rot."

Castiel glowered up at her and she sneered, reaching out to grab his right wing, yanking warningly on several feathers.

"Now, angel! Thank me! Or I will make you regret it—and you know I will."

A flash of memory washed over Castiel of his first day in her captivity. How she had spent hours 'conditioning' him, the agony she had caused him when he wouldn't obey. He looked down, wings shuddering at the memory of the pain from a few moments before—an assault to his true form. It wasn't worth his foolish pride.

He hesitated a moment, to show her he still made his own decisions, then bent and kissed the toe of her shoe.

"That will do," she said and released his wing with one last sharp tug before turning and leaving the room.

Castiel slumped forward once she was gone, hating himself a little for giving into her. He had no idea how he was going to get out of this.

XXX

The cage was gold like his collar and placed on a pedestal in the center of the ballroom, where no one would be able to miss it, an obvious pointed show of force by his captor. She had a caged angel, she must be powerful.

The cage was not large enough for Castiel to stand so he knelt in the middle, in a forced submissive position, hands manacled and locked to the bottom of the cage. He felt even more vulnerable with his wings out, and nothing but a pair of trousers. The cage was even too small to contain his wings well, and so his longest primaries poked between the bars, inviting the guests to touch them.

Which they did—it was encouraged, in fact. Everyone took a turn to stroke and fondle the angel, remarking over him as if he were an animal—and sometimes worse than that—until Castiel was squirming in discomfort and burning with humiliation. He tried glowering them away, but it did nothing to dissuade him, he wasn't a threat in his current situation, just a fascinating object, and so he eventually gave up and simply hung his head, unable to watch them, ignoring their disgusting comments.

That's why he didn't trust the gentle touch to his hand at first even though he wanted to believe it was someone offering him a smidgeon of kindness.

"My, my, poor wee bird."

The sound of the soft brogue had him whipping his head up to see Rowena standing beside the cage, smiling.

"You do get yourself into the worst scrapes, don't you, Castiel?"

He glowered at her, but she reached up to touch his cheek gently, leaning in. "Don't worry, darling, my plus ones are getting a surprise ready for our hostess."

Castiel's eyes widened. _Sam and Dean are here?_ He mouthed with a grunt of annoyance that he couldn't speak. Rowena put a finger to her lips.

"Of course, dear—we were just lucky I got an invite." She gave his hand one more kind squeeze and flounced off back to the party, greeting another woman.

Castiel felt a little energy surge through him, at the thought that the Winchesters were here. He could endure this if he knew they would get him out.

He didn't have long to wait.

There was a short cry from one side of the room, and then several things were flung through the doors, which then exploded and created a smoke screen. Castiel could hear the witch screeching at her guards, before her shouts were cut off with the blare of a gun.

"Everybody down!" Dean's voice was heard bellowing over the chaos and Castiel felt relief wash over him as he saw the brothers through the smoke.

A couple more witches tried their hand against the Winchesters, only to be taken out by the witch-killing bullets. After that, the rest seemed to decide that it might be a better idea to just get out of there and rushed for the exits.

"Cas!"

Sam and Dean, along with Rowena, rushed over to the cage and the fury on their faces was something to behold.

"Cas, are you all right?" Sam asked.

"I should have killed that bitch slower," Dean growled as he saw Castiel's position.

Castiel grunted, but reached up to grip the collar indicating that he couldn't speak.

"It's the runes," Rowena explained. "You'll need a key. I'll go see if the old hag had it on her."

She hurried off and Sam reached through the bars, gripping Castiel's wrist. "Just hold on a second, we'll have you out soon."

Castiel gave them a grateful look and thankfully it wasn't long before Rowena returned with the keys.

They opened the cage first, and pulled Castiel free. He was wobbly with his wings out and unwieldy, but he was grateful to be out.

Dean found the key that unlocked the collar and Castiel finally felt his grace become unmuted again. He took a relieved breath and put his wings back onto the ethereal plane.

"Thank you," he croaked.

Dean pulled him into a hug and Sam followed.

"We had no idea what had happened to you," the younger Winchester said with a furrowed brow. "It wasn't until Rowena got the invitation that we figured it out."

Dean handed Castiel his coat and the angel pulled it on, feeling a little better with a protective layer of clothing. "Yes, well, I just happened to end up in the wrong place at the wrong time, I suppose."

Dean clapped him on the shoulder. "Well, we're glad to have you back."

"Yes, now they'll stop moaning about it," Rowena said, but the look in her eye said that she too was glad to see the angel safe. "As much as I appreciate seeing you in chains…"

"Alright," Dean growled warningly. "Let's get the hell out of here."

Castiel couldn't agree more. But before he left, he turned around, causing Sam and Dean to frown.

"Cas?"

Castiel snapped his fingers and used his power to melt the collar, chains and cage, making sure they couldn't be used again.

"Alright," he said as he turned back around, feeling better. "Now we can go."


	13. Day Twenty-Eight: Beaten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so a quick note: There will be SPN fics for the rest of Whumptober! I am posting both an SPN and a Good Omens fill for the final two prompts because I couldn't decide which one I wanted to do, so for the last two days of the month you will get two stories if you wish to read both ^_^
> 
> Also, fun fact: this story was inspired by a dream I had (because I can't stop the whump apparently) The whole scene at the beginning was essentially an incredibly vivid dream that played like a promo for Supernatural XD I decided I would use it for one of the prompts because, why not?

It did not take Dean long to get out of the cuffs, but yet, even a minute was too long at the moment. Dean counted those minutes as he drove furiously back to the motel—ten…eleven…twelve—every second one more that Dean was leaving his brother unprotected.

That bastard had gone after Sam to get at _him_ and Dean couldn't stand the thought of the rogue hunter he had somehow managed to piss off doing anything to his little brother. Dean was going to tear him apart.

It was twenty minutes by the time he got to the motel—that left at least ten for Conners to do what he wanted to Sam if he had gotten there, leaving after he had tried to lock Dean down.

Dean saw his car in the parking lot. The bastard had beat him there.

Dean slammed on the Impala's brakes, skidding to a halt in the middle of the parking lot, door open before he even pulled the key from the ignition. He didn't even bother with a weapon, he was just going to kick the door down and throttle Conners with his bare hands.

If he had touched Sam…

The door to their room opened and Dean watched as Conners stepped out, looking up to smirk at Dean. He had a handkerchief in his hand and Dean saw his bloody, split knuckles before the hunter wrapped his hand with it.

Neither of them spoke, Conners just leered, and got into his car and Dean wanted to beat him to hell, he did, but his brotherly instinct beat out even his rage and he settled for giving Conners a look. A promise. A vow that he would find him and he would kill him.

Conners smirked, knowing he was safe for the moment, and drove off.

Dean raced into the motel room, the door ajar.

"Sammy!" he cried, skidding to a halt right inside the door.

Sam sat tied to a chair in the center of the room, head hanging as blood dribbled from his mouth and nose. Conners hadn't had long, but he had used his time wisely. In addition to his busted knuckles, a bloody baseball bat lay on the floor at Sam's feet, causing Dean to nearly choke on his rage.

"Sammy," he croaked out as he raced the final few steps and gently took Sam's face between his hands, lifting it.

Sam's lip was split grotesquely, the left side of his face was swollen so badly that Sam's eye had fused shut and Dean was sure his cheekbone was broken. His nose definitely was.

Sam's other eye opened blearily as he gurgled. "D'n."

"Oh god, Sammy," Dean whispered, brushing Sam's bloodstained hair away from his face before he snatched his knife from his pocket and started cutting Sam free.

His brother slumped without the support of the ropes and Dean caught him as carefully as possible.

"Okay, you're okay, I'm gonna get you to the hospital."

Sam groaned and let out a choked off cry as Dean eased him to his feet. He wanted to vomit as he felt the shift of cracked ribs and checked himself, not wanting to give Sam a punctured lung. He shifted his grip and practically carried his little brother out to the car, lowering him as gently as possible into the backseat.

Sam's sob of pain nearly broke him, and he wished he hadn't let Conners go. No…he would get the hunter later. Right now, Sammy needed help.

Dean flew back into the room to grab their stuff and on the way out, he picked up the bloody baseball bat.

He would have use for that later.

"Just hold on, Sammy, okay?" he called to the backseat as he put the Impala in gear and sped off into town for the hospital. "Just a little bit longer, okay?"

Sam moaned, whimpering.

Dean clenched his jaw and pressed his foot harder into the gas.

He screeched to a halt in front of the ER and pulled Sam out, supporting him inside as his brother slumped against him.

Doctors rushed to help and got Sam taken care of. Dean took a moment to wash Sam's blood from his hands before calling Cas, telling him to meet them at the hospital.

Once the doctors had put Sam back together, Dean sat by his bedside, waiting for Cas to get there. Sam's breathing was ragged and pained from his broken ribs and nose. His face looked awful, and he had broken fingers which Dean hadn't noticed before.

His hand clenched into a fist against his knee as he took stock of every injury his little brother had been dealt by that bastard, remembering each one in detail for when he eventually met Conners.

The two things in life that were certain were death, and that Dean Winchester would come after you if you touched his family.

And death usually followed swiftly upon those dark wings.

As soon as Cas arrived to watch over Sam, Dean didn't stay long. He called in a few favors and got a location.

He drove up to the motel and reached into the back of his car, grabbing the baseball bat that still had Sam's dried blood on it.

XXX

Dean was waiting for Conners when the man returned to his motel room with a smug smile on his face, talking on the phone, obviously pleased with himself.

"Yeah, I taught him a good lesson," he bragged. "He'll think twice about getting in our way again."

He closed the door behind him and ended the call. He didn't notice Dean waiting in the shadowy corner until he turned on the lights.

"What the hell?" Conners demanded, reaching for something, but he apparently hadn't put his gun where he thought it was. Oops.

That was his mistake.

The hunter's eyes widened as Dean raised the bat. "Recognize this?" he asked.

Conners took a step back, panic starting to settle into his eyes. "D-don't."

"Hm," Dean snorted darkly, giving the bat a practice swing. "You know, Conners, no one, and I mean no one, touches my family."

Conners cowered.

"You beat up my little brother, put him in the hospital, so now…" Dean said. "I'm gonna do the same to you. Except you'll be lucky if you make it to the hospital. You remember everything you did to Sam? Well, think about that, because it's all gonna happen to you. Not so tough now, are you?"

Conners raced for the door, but Dean got there before him, kicking him back. Conners fell with a cry, scrambling on the ground.

"You can't do this."

"I can," Dean told him. "Oh, and don't expect any help. You're the only one here and I paid off the motel manager."

Conners shook his head.

"Maybe next time you'll remember not to touch my family," Dean said.

And he raised the bat.


	14. Day Twenty-Nine: Numb

"Sam!"

Castiel saw the witch forming the spell and throwing her hand up toward the younger Winchester. He didn't think, he just moved, getting between her and Sam. He felt something slam into his chest and he was thrown to the ground, but Dean was there in another instant, stabbing the witch through the heart with an angel blade.

"Cas!" Sam and Dean both were at his side in an instant as Castiel struggled to sit up, a little sore from getting hit but not feeling much else.

"Hey, you good? She hit you with that?" Dean demanded, looking him over worriedly.

"Yes, but, I think I'm fine," Castiel said. "Perhaps whatever spell she used dispersed as soon as she died."

"Well, let's hope," Dean said.

"Cas, thanks for saving me," Sam told him sincerely as they both helped Castiel to his feet.

The angel smiled. "Of course, Sam. That's what we do."

"Let's get rid of the body and get out of here," Dean said, also giving Castiel a grateful look and a pat on the shoulder.

Castiel went to help, then frowned as his fingers started tingling. He flexed his hand. Maybe he had hit his elbow when he'd fallen or it was residual effects from the spell. Besides that, he felt fine.

After they had disposed of the body, they started on their drive back to the bunker. By now, both of Castiel's hands had started tingling and the sensation had moved up his arms. He could also feel in in his feet a little as well. Perhaps this wasn't good after all.

He shifted in the backseat of the Impala and found, to his horror that the lower parts of his arms and legs couldn't move. Or, rather, he couldn't feel them. It was like the sensation of an appendage falling asleep. He tried to force his grace toward the issue, but…but he couldn't even feel it.

"Dean," he gasped out and the hunter looked back in the rearview mirror. "I..I think something's wrong."

They were parked on the side of the road in an instant and Dean and Sam were leaning over the back seat.

"Cas? What is it?" Dean asked worriedly.

"I…I can't feel my legs…or arms," Castiel replied, starting to get more agitated by the second.

"Okay, just hold on," Dean said as Sam reached out and grabbed one of his hands.

"Can you feel this?" the younger hunter asked.

Castiel shook his head. "No."

Sam and Dean shared a look. "Okay, well, we can't do anything here and we're only an hour out from the bunker…"

"Forty-five minutes," Dean grunted as he pulled back onto the road and drove his foot into the gas pedal.

Castiel decided to lay down on the backseat, trying to stay calm as he felt his body grow more and more numb.

By the time they got back to the bunker, he could barely feel anything.

Sam and Dean had to carry him inside to his bed and Castiel lay there helplessly as they tried to make him as comfortable as possible.

"Cas, how much of you is numb?" Sam asked.

Castiel glanced between them, swallowing hard. "Pretty much everything from the neck down," he whispered.

"Dammit," Dean grunted. "Sammy, hit the books."

Sam instantly left the room as Dean tucked a blanket around Castiel. It was a nice gesture, but he couldn't feel it. Sam came back a moment later with a stack of books and he and Dean fell on them instantly.

Castiel could feel the numbness creeping up his jaw. He felt a moment of panic but he couldn't really react. It was already taking him over. He wondered what would happen when it did? Would his grace continue to sustain his vessel, or was his grace just as paralyzed as the rest of him? He would have been dead by now if he was human since his lungs weren't really working. He moaned, but the sound was soft and strangled. His vocal chords were numb too.

"Cas?" Dean said, tuning to him. Castiel tried to convey his plight, but he could only move his eyes now. Dean reached out and cupped a hand against his cheek. Castiel couldn't feel it. "It's okay, we'll fix this, Cas. We'll fix this."

"Hey, I think I've got something," Sam said and Dean patted Castiel's cheek once before turning back to his brother.

"This is a reverse for a spell of paralysis," Sam said. "It sounds like what happened to Cas."

"Great, we got everything for it?" Dean asked.

Sam nodded. "Yeah, I'll be right back."

Soon he had set up all the ingredients on the desk in Castiel's room and within a few minutes he had the spell put together.

"Okay, we just need some of Cas' hair," he said.

Dean snipped a few strands and added them to the bowl. Castiel watched with anticipation and dread as Sam lit a match and dropped it into the bowl.

A burst of flame erupted and for a second nothing happened, then Castiel felt a sharp, cramping pain in his legs.

He groaned, and Sam and Dean were at his side instantly.

"Cas?" Sam said, reaching out to touch his shoulder.

"Sam, are you sure you did it right?" Dean asked frantically as he watched Castiel twitch as another spasm ripped through him.

"Yes, to the exact measurement!" Sam replied.

"Guh," Castiel tried to speak. He flexed his hand and his fingers curled. Dean noticed and clasped the angel's hand.

"Hey, I think it's working. Is it working, Cas?"

Castiel grunted again, then keened as pain ripped through him, squeezing his eyes shut.

"Why is it hurting him?" Dean asked.

"I don't know, maybe it's like when your arm falls asleep. You know how bad it hurts when the blood starts to flow again."

Castiel shifted to curl up on his side, but after a few more minutes of agony the pain started to dissipate and he could feel his body again, responding to his commands. He reached inside and felt for his grace, finding it also responsive. He lay there just breathing deeply for a few moments.

"Cas?" Sam asked, squeezing his shoulder.

"I—I think it's over," the angel grunted.

"You're good? You can feel everything again?" Dean asked.

Castiel opened his eyes and nodded. Dean sighed in relief and ran a hand over his face.

"Good. Seriously, that is the last witch I want to hunt for a while. I freaking hate witches!"

"I know, Dean," Castiel said with mild amusement. "And I agree. I would prefer other monsters."

Dean turned to clean up the spell ingredients as Sam got Castiel a glass of water. "Do you need anything else?" he asked.

Castiel shook his head tiredly. "No. My grace is still a little weak. I think I might try to rest a little."

Sam nodded. "Probably the best idea. Let us know if you need anything."

Castiel smiled, and closed his eyes, knowing he was safe with his brothers around.


	15. Day Thirty: Recovery

Sometimes the job seemed like it was always hit the ground running, and working one case after another—and yeah, sometimes it was. And something it couldn't be. Sometimes there were injuries or other issues that dictated the need for recovery time.

Sometimes, these moments were nerve-wracking, sitting by a loved one's hospital bed, just praying they would wake up. Long hours of stressful, sleepless nights when it seemed like everything that could go wrong would, wrapped in the fear of losing someone you couldn't stand to live without.

Sometimes, it wasn't so bad as that. Sometimes they liked to consider recovery time as a nice break, and enjoyed time off watching movies and playing stupid games in the bunker until everyone was fit to go out and hunt again.

Sometimes, there were more than the physical wounds to fix. Quiet, tense moments of dancing around each other and the issues at hand until conversations were ready to be had. Sometimes, these recoveries seemed to be the hardest, the worst to deal with.

But no matter how they went about it, it was one of the rituals that they had gotten used to and, however harrowing it could be on occasion, the recovery process was oftentimes a relief—knowing that once they had gotten there, whatever they had been dealing with was over.

XXX

Castiel hated feeling this weak, this out of control. But the attack dog spell was broken now, though with it, he also felt as if he had been broken.

He felt worn down, exhausted. He hated seeing the bruises on Dean's face that he'd put there when he hadn't been able to control himself. But he couldn't heal right now—himself or anyone else. His grace was still recovering from the attack. All he could do was sit slumped in the Impala as they drove back to the bunker and then had to find the energy to get out of the car once they did.

He meant to go to his room, shut himself in, and away from the Winchesters, unable to look at them now in his shame. But he was so tired that, defeated, he made his way into the library, ignoring Sam and Dean's inquiries. He sat in one of the reading chairs, arms folded around himself as the feeling telling him to give up pulled on his harder and harder.

He closed his eyes, hugging himself to keep the cold out, before he realized the cold was inside of him. He shivered slightly, not knowing what to do.

He was startled by Dean approaching and wrapping a blanket around his shoulders, tugging it tight around him and cupping the back of his neck gently. Sam came a second later with a cup of hot tea, which he put into Castiel's hands, rubbing a large hand over his back comfortingly.

"It's going to be all right, Cas," Sam told him. "You're going to be all right."

"I'm not so sure," Cas said, his voice hoarse, tired even to his own ears. He clutched the warm cup, but though it warmed his hands, he knew it couldn't warm the cold in his chest.

"You will be," Dean told him firmly, squeezing his shoulder. "This is a rough patch, and you've been through a lot, but we're here for you, man. I want you to know that."

Castiel looked up hesitantly, but as soon as he met Dean's eyes, he saw the sincerity in the elder Winchester's gaze and something loosened just a little in his chest.

"We'll get through this together, Cas," Sam added and Castiel saw the same sincerity in his eyes as Dean's. "All of this."

At the moment, Castiel wasn't sure he really believed them that everything would be all right. After all, their troubles were only just beginning, but maybe with a little rest _he_ could find it in himself to be all right; get back on his feet so he was able to help his brothers in the new fight.

He thought that if, perhaps, he kept that in mind, he might be okay.

In the meantime, he sipped the tea, and pulled the blanket closer, and basked in the care that his adopted brothers gave him, indeed feeling just a little better, and just a little less cold.

XXX

Sam couldn't help but feel overwhelmed after getting back to the bunker. After all, only twelve hours before he'd thought Dean was dead, had no idea where Cas was, and had thought he would die in a cellar, killed by some insane woman.

Now he knew Dean was alive and…and so was their mom. And Cas was at least okay too, not blown back to Heaven for the other angels to do who knew what with him.

But Sam had still been kidnapped and tortured, both psychically and psychologically for the better part of two, maybe three days—Sam didn't even know, he'd lost track of time. Cas had healed the worst of his injuries, and he'd put on a brave face for their mom. After all, she'd just come back, and Sam didn't want her to have to deal with his trauma when she was still going through some of her own. He knew what it was like coming back from the dead. It wasn't easy.

He genuinely thought he would be okay. He'd been tortured before. Lady Bevell had nothing on Lucifer after all. It shouldn't bother him. He needed a good night sleep and in the morning, he would be able to process everything a little better. He'd clean up and get into his own bed and forget about what happened.

And then he'd gotten into the shower and cold water hit his skin and he kind of lost it. That's how it had started after all, a cold freaking shower, and all of a sudden he was back in the cellar and all the pain he had gone through, both psychically and mentally came crashing back on him.

He didn't know how his brother knew he was suffering, but then, Dean always had, somehow. Either way, Dean silently let himself into the bathroom, and helped Sam wash up and dry off before promptly tucking him into bed in clean clothes that were not covered in blood and filth. Sam didn't have the mind to be embarrassed about it, Dean's mere presence was a comfort he couldn't deny he needed in that moment. He didn't even mind being coddled like a child and tucked into bed.

Dean must have conscripted Cas to help because the angel came into his room soon after with a tray of soup and water.

Sam suddenly realized he hadn't eaten or really drunk anything since he had been captured and was instantly ravenous.

He ate, and Dean and Cas both sat on opposite sides of his bed, talking about anything but what had happened to get his mind off of it; arguing about pointless things with vehemence, and Sam already felt like his recovery process was underway.

Long after Sam had finished eating and finally started to fall asleep, he felt Cas reach out and heal the rest of his wounds, then Dean brushed a hand through Sam's hair, palm lingering against his cheek for a long moment. It was the last thing Sam remembered before he drifted off, a comforting anchor, and he was actually able to sleep without nightmares.

XXX

Dean knew that his lack of protest when his brother didn't even bother to ask him if he wanted to drive told Sam how bad it was. Honestly, he was reeling, trying to pull himself together. He was glad Mom and the other Bobby were in their own vehicle because he didn't want anyone else around right now.

He couldn't have imagined how bad it would be, having Michael take him over. How hard it would be to fight. But the archangel had kept him locked away, constantly drowning in his own body.

When they got back to the bunker, he nearly stumbled getting out of the car. It was strange how you had to get used to using your body again. It was like when someone got in your car and moved your seat, changed your presets. It was yours but it somehow _wasn't._ It didn't quite fit you anymore.

But Sam caught him and wrapped an arm around his waist. Pulling him upright and leading him inside.

Cas was there and once he breathed a sigh of relief at seeing Dean, Sam told him to get the other hunters out of their way. Cas went to do that, and Sam brought Dean to his room, lowering him to the bed, promising he'd be right back.

Dean looked around at his familiar surroundings and felt a little better. A little safer. He was actually glad Michael hadn't trapped him in an approximation of his bunker, his home. That would have made reality harder to distinguish. Not that what he'd gone through was easy, but…it could always be worse.

He looked around his room, focusing on all his things as he schooled his breath. Just the act of breathing freely made unwanted memories of drowning crash down on him. He closed his eyes, pressing his palms against them and stood. He crossed to his desk, touching his picture of Mom sitting there. His dad's journal sitting to one side. He needed to remind himself he was home. He to get out of the stupid British gangster clothes Michael had dressed him in, he needed himself. He tore the clothes off, and grabbed a pair of sweat pants and an old, worn out Led Zeppelin shirt. Feeling a little better, a little steadier with each motion.

Sam and Cas came back with food—bacon and eggs—and coffee. Dean took it silently and devoured it as his brothers watched in the background.

When he was done, he got up and turned toward his bed, planning to turn in when Sam caught his shoulder gently.

"Are you going to be okay?" Sam asked. "Because…" he nodded between Cas and himself. "We know what it's like. And we're here to talk if you need to."

Cas nodded, a pained expression on his face.

Dean took a deep breath, but already felt better. Just knowing Michael was gone, just knowing that he was home.

"No. Not…not yet. But…" He swallowed hard and turned to meet their eyes. "Just knowing you're here…it helps."

Cas smiled and Sam patted Dean's shoulder before he got into bed.

Dean didn't ask, but Sam simply pulled up a chair to the side of his bed as he closed his eyes. It might take him a little while yet to recover fully, but knowing that he had family to support him helped.


	16. Day Thirty-One: Embrace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, we're at the final day of Whumptober. I have had such a blast writing and sharing all of these with you guys this year (definitely look forward to doing it again, next year XD) and again, I just want to thank you all so much for the support and the reviews!
> 
> Now, let's have some hugs...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Five Times Dean gave hugs when they were needed. Once he received one.

1

Kevin's head ached. He'd hit another roadblock in the translation of the tablet and he was just incredibly tired. But when the safety of the world was on the line, how could he justify taking a break?

Still, all he really wanted was to see his mom, but he couldn't risk leading demons or angels to her. It was just all too much. Everything was too much.

He buried his head in his hands, feeling his eyes getting wet.

"Hey, you good, kid?"

He jerked upright, seeing Dean standing on the other side of his desk. He quickly dashed a hand across his eyes. "I—I can't do it anymore."

"Sure you can," Dean said, not unkindly. "You just need a break. Come back to it with a fresh head."

"I don't have time for a break!" Kevin cried, standing up and clenching his hands in his hair. "I feel like the whole fricken' world is on my shoulders right now! How am I supposed to deal with that?"

"Hey," Dean said gently, stepping around the desk and settling a hand on Kevin's shoulder. "Trust me, I know what that feels like. But remember, Sam and I are here to do the dirty work. You just have to translate that tablet, and you're doing good. Hell, better than I expected. So what if you need a night off? Get some sleep, watch some Netflix—hell, _eat_ something. I'll go get whatever you want."

"But, I…"

"Hey," Dean said, smiling slightly. "The world's not gonna end tonight, okay? Because I'm not gonna let it. You're gonna sleep, and you're not gonna look at that tablet until tomorrow."

Kevin sagged, some relief flooding through him.

"Come here, kid," Dean said affectionately, and to Kevin's shock, wrapped him in a hug.

Kevin sagged against the elder Winchester, feeling some of the tension wash out of him. Dean was right, the world wasn't going to end that night. Maybe a break was a good thing.

2

The dream had been horrible, and Charlie sat panting in the chair for a long minute after she and Dean had been pulled out of the djinn's hold. It was almost worse, having finished the game in the dream, having been forced to let her mother go.

Tears fell down her cheeks in both relief that it was over, and terror at knowing what she was going to have to do next.

"Hey, Charlie."

She looked up, blinking back tears and sniffling as she met Dean's eyes. He was crouched in front of her, concern on his face, one warm hand wrapped over her wrist.

"It's over," he coaxed, handing her a handkerchief, which she snatched and wiped her eyes with before blowing her nose noisily.

"No, it's not," she said. "I—I have to let my mom go. For real. I know I should, but I can't…I can't…"

She bent over and buried her face in her hands.

"Hey, hey," Dean said gently, reaching out to rub her back. "It's gonna be fine. I promise. It might hurt for a while, but I think it will be for the best in the long run as hard as that might be to think about."

Charlie hiccupped a sob and finally nodded. "Yeah. You're probably right."

"Come here," Dean said as he stood up and pulled her from the chair, directly into his arms. Charlie melted into his warm embrace, pressing her face against his chest as her shoulders shook. Dean held her tight and his lips brushed her forehead before he rested his chin on the top of her head.

"I'm sorry, kiddo," he murmured. "About all of it. If there's anything I can do…"

Charlie shifted to look up and him and forced a small smile through her tears. "You've already done enough. Thanks, Dean."

He smiled back and held her tightly again and for that moment, Charlie felt truly safe and loved.

3

Castiel stood at the edge of the abandoned factory, looking out to see the dying sun. He felt horrible, for everything. His body psychically, and his being mentally, for saying yes to Lucifer, for helping to cause most of this…he could no longer be relied upon for anything. The Winchesters would do well to cut him loose. Honestly, he had been hoping to avoid all of this. He hadn't expected surviving being Lucifer's vessel, after all. The _after_ hadn't occurred to him, and it was harder to bear than he had ever imagined.

"Cas, you okay?"

The footsteps stopped a couple paces behind him and Castiel couldn't stand to face Dean. The fact that the elder Winchester—who had once been a friend, a brother, to him—was even speaking to him now was a miracle in itself after everything he had done.

"I ruined everything," he said stiffly. "I was stupid."

Dean huffed slightly. "You know well enough we've all made stupid mistakes, Cas."

"Not like me," Castiel replied bitterly. "I should never have said yes to Lucifer."

"I started the apocalypse."

"That wasn't your fault."

"And you were just doing what you thought was the right thing too," Dean said and came over to stand shoulder to shoulder with the angel. "Look, I know part of it was because you're going through some self-worth issues—and trust me, we're gonna have a talk about that—but I also know that another part of it is because you didn't want Lucifer to take Sam. And I would never trade either of you, you know that, right?"

Castiel pressed his lips into a thin line, but a small flare of warmth starting in his check.

"I guess what I'm saying is that, despite the stupid act, I know your heart was in the right place. And at the end of the day, in our lives, that's all that really matters."

Castiel hung his head, a lump forming in his throat. "Dean…" he couldn't decide what to say. Whether he was grateful, or even more ashamed that Dean had understood his motives so thoroughly.

The hunter's hand settled on his shoulder, making Castiel tense.

"You're our brother, Cas, I want you to know that," Dean said sincerely. Castiel finally dared look at him, his own eyes pricking as he saw the honesty in Dean's. "Never forget that you're our family. I'm glad to have you back."

And then he simply pulled the angel into an embrace, the kind he and Sam shared when one of them had been in peril or come back from the dead. Firm, lingering, and full of relief. Castiel was stiff at first, but when Dean didn't let go, he sagged, allowing himself to enjoy the comfort as he eventually hugged Dean back, head lowering to rest on the hunter's shoulder.

Dean let out a long breath as if he had been waiting for Castiel to return the embrace and Castiel thought, that, perhaps, he could learn to have more faith in himself again, if the Winchesters still did.

4

Everything was just so overwhelming. First Sam had let his brother go sacrifice himself to defeat Amara, then he'd been taken and tortured by the insane British Men of Letters, only to be rescued by Dean who wasn't dead after all. And then there was the fact that their mom was back from the dead as well…

It was a lot at the moment; after a couple days of torture and grief, and Sam was shutting down. It was just too much for him to take in at the moment.

"Hey."

He looked up, startled to see Dean standing in the door of his room, a beer in hand.

Sam looked up from where he sat on the bed, attempting a smile, but it didn't make it, wavering on his lips as he fought to hold in his emotions.

"You okay?" Dean asked, though his eyes said they knew they truth.

Sam looked down at his hands, swallowing hard. "I thought you had died," he said simply. And everything else…" He stopped, throat closing, eyes blurring.

But he didn't need to say anything else either. Dean knew exactly what was going through his head. He didn't even try to say anything, simple walked into the room, sitting down on the bed beside Sam and turning to pull him into his arms.

Sam sagged against his brother, shoulders heaving in a silent sob as Dean gripped the back of his neck, holding him close. Sam felt safe like he always did, always had. His brother was his refuge in whatever storm he happened to be weathering, and he was so, so grateful that he hadn't lost him.

He couldn't put that into words at the moment, but he didn't need to. Dean understood, and simply held his tighter.

No words were needed.

5

Jack sat on his bed, arms wrapped around his knees as he tried to sniff away the tears. He couldn't do anything right. His powers were too hard to control and he would never get the hang of using them. Cas and Sam had both tried their best with his training, but he could tell they were wearing thin. And he didn't blame them. He was sure he was a difficult student.

He heard footsteps outside in the hall before they stopped in front of his door, followed by a soft knock.

Jack quickly scrubbed his face free of tears as the door opened and Dean stepped inside.

"Hey, rough day?" he asked.

"No." Jack replied quickly, trying to put on a false bravado. "I'm fine."

Dean smiled as he came in and sat on the side of the bed. "Cas and Sam said they were worried about you. Said you took training kind of hard today."

Jack looked away as more tears welled in his eyes. "I…I have all these powers and I'm not good at them."

"Sure you are," Dean said.

"I don't want to hurt people anymore," Jack whispered, hugging his knees closer to his chest.

Dean sighed. "Jack, look. You're really powerful. And you've got to learn how to use those powers, but you don't have to beat yourself up about it. We're training you so you don't have to feel scared about hurting people. Like when I taught you how to use a gun, remember? You treat it with respect, not fear, and when you do that, it's just a tool. You don't have to be afraid of your powers, you just have to learn how to use them with confidence."

Jack sniffed. "It's just so hard."

"It is, but remember, we're not expecting the world from you, kid. We're just here to help you."

Jack glanced up. "Really?"

"Yeah," Dean smiled and leaned forward, cupping the back of Jack's head. "C'mere."

Jack was shocked when Dean pulled him in against his chest in a hug. He'd never gotten one from the elder Winchester before. It felt good, warm and safe.

"Come on," Dean told him after he pulled away, squeezing Jack's shoulder. "Let's go get some popcorn and we'll watch a movie. I think you earned it after today."

Jack smiled, and felt better than he had in a long time.

(1)

He felt tired and sick. The exhaustion from having Michael in his head for weeks, not sleeping, hardly getting any rest, had worn on him, and now that it was over, and the archangel had gotten free, decimating the majority of the hunters who had been living in the bunker, and forcing Jack to burn off his powers to save them, it was just too much. Dean felt like he was finally collapsing, his world was collapsing, and he didn't know what to do.

He didn't realize he was literally collapsing until strong arms caught him.

"Hey, Dean," Sam's voice murmured in his ear as his brother lowered Dean onto the steps that led into the library. "You're good, you're good."

"No, I'm not," Dean forced out.

"You will be," Sam insisted, still holding onto him, a solid presence as Dean's head swam, still reeling from his possession. He leaned instinctively into his brother, shamefully seeking any comfort he could get. Normally he would be embarrassed, but he couldn't find it in himself to care right now, even when Sam began to rock him gently, soothingly.

"Dean, Michael's gone, everything will be fine." That was Cas' voice and Dean felt another figure settle on his other side, another arm wrapping solidly over his shoulders. "It's over."

Dean wanted to believe it, and hell, he was starting to. But…

"Jack," he murmured. "He…"

"I'm here, Dean, and I'm okay."

The kid's voice trickled through Dean's reeling mind and Dean felt a third pair of arms wrap around his waist, and all three of them, his family, were holding onto him, keeping him together, almost physically, when he couldn't seem to manage that by himself.

He didn't know how long they sat there, and frankly, he didn't care. He just knew that being enveloped by the embrace of his family made him feel whole for the first time in forever.

Made him feel like he might be able to get up and keep fighting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you enjoyed Whumptober I love reviews and coffee! I have a Ko-Fi if you want to provide me with a coffee you can find me @LadyWallace 
> 
> And I'm curious to see which of the stories you liked most this month. I may consider extending some of them into full-fledged stories at some point, but I wanted to see which ones you guys enjoyed most first.
> 
> As for what's next, I have a Raising Hell one-shot coming on the 4th, and the next official Raising Hell fic "Pandemonium" will start on the 11th!


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